


Fireproof

by plainchelle



Series: Rambles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Grief, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1671152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plainchelle/pseuds/plainchelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a nickname for her, whispered in corners and hidden rooms. Nobody realized that she knew what they called her in hushed voices full of awe, and fear, and disdain.</p><p>Lydia Martin. The Bitch.</p><p>Whenever she heard it, she would hmph, pop the cap on her blood red lipstick, and walk away in heels that could pierce hearts.</p><p>Stiles tried to understand. He tried to tell her how to understand. They’re just pawns in a larger game that has nothing to do with their mortality and everything to do with their expendability. But that’s not her. Lydia Martin is no pawn. She is the queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireproof

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The National's song "Fireproof." Please listen to it while you read this.

She used to cover herself in makeup because it made her look pretty. It turned her from a ragged little girl trying too hard to be cool into the girl who knew exactly what she wanted in life and knew exactly how to get it. She wore makeup like battle armor, her face steel and cold.  
  
There was a nickname for her, whispered in corners and hidden rooms. Nobody realized that she knew what they called her in hushed voices full of awe, and fear, and disdain.  
  
Lydia Martin. The Bitch.  
  
Whenever she heard it, she would hmph, pop the cap on her blood red lipstick, and walk away in heels that could pierce hearts.  
  
She tried to take down the shields, take off the armor slowly, let them know that she was real. Tangible. Breakable. When the Darach strangled her, she held her head high and moved forward. She didn’t cover it up because she was a survivor. Worlds would crumble around her, and she would stand up and wipe off the dust. The whispering never stopped because even she didn’t know what she was trying to prove. And if she didn’t know, nobody else did.  
  
Stiles tried to understand. He tried to tell her how to understand. They’re just pawns in a larger game that has nothing to do with their mortality and everything to do with their expendability. But that’s not her. Lydia Martin is no pawn. She is the queen.  
  
Even when Peter used her, destroyed her. Broke down the armor chunk by chunk until she was held together with slowly peeling tape. She always put on her makeup, walked with ferocious determination, like she’s got nothing to prove. She has everything to prove. He took away her choice, but she fought back. All through his coercion, she fought him tooth and nail, fist and claw. They don’t know how hard she tried. Nobody will know that she failed. To some extent, not even Peter would know that. One day after Peter came back, Allison asked her if she was okay.  
  
Lydia told her, "Sometimes, I'm not as put together as everyone thinks."  
  
"Sometimes, you're not as put together as you think," Allison said.  
  
But she picked herself up, got a new set of armor. Lydia Martin the Bitch was unbreakable. She was fireproof.  
  
Then Allison died.  
  
Then her best friend, her fellow fireproof queen who was never expendable but still mortal, died. And Lydia felt every last heartbeat. She screamed so loud that she wished she would go deaf. That her ears would bleed and she wouldn’t have to listen to the rasps of Allison’s breath echo in her head. She screamed at her best friend’s soul to come back. Don’t leave her. She can’t do this alone. She’s not a queen without Allison. Allison makes her a queen. Without her, she’s just a pawn.  
  
Lydia felt the blade pierce her skin, slice through her bones. Felt the blood and life oozing from her body, slowly but surely. Felt the last tiny bit of love left in her disappear into the air and the stench. And some tiny selfish part of her knew she was screaming to save herself. She was trying to reel her soul back into her fragile body as it turned to ashes. Allison died, and Lydia survived.  
  
It was her fault that Allison died. She tried to warn them, told them not to find her. But the whole time she was stuck, trapped with that thing inside Stiles, her skin was buzzing and her heart was aching. She’d screamed for Stiles, but this was different. This was like she was shaking apart into thousands of pieces that would scatter at any moment. She’d explode in this tiny little space and nothing could put her back together.  
  
Lydia gave herself three days to mourn. Day one started at the police station. Every tear, every blank stare, the feeling of dread like nothing else mattered but her friend, marked the beginning of the three days. She sat in that chair and wished that she could stop time. If she were smarter, she would’ve wished to reverse time. She wanted the world to stop while she sat, taken apart and wailing. She couldn’t scream anymore, but she could wail and mourn her best friend. She was a banshee, and she killed Allison.  
  
For three days, she holed herself up in her room and cried until every last inch of her pillow was damp. She didn’t even have it in her to mourn Aiden. There were no emotions left in her. She went to Allison’s funeral, sat upright and perfectly still and quietly dabbed at her eyes as the priest said something in French. Lydia had never bothered trying to learn French because she figured that she would always be able to ask Allison. She turned to her right, but in that seat was a crumpled and lost teacher. Lydia was sitting with the people who went to the funeral out of expectation. These were the people expected to show up and pay their respects. And she was unbelievably, impossibly angry. She could tear down their world with her manicured fingernails, pluck their fake sympathy from their chests and crush it beneath her heels.  
  
She didn’t mourn for Aiden the way she mourned for Allison. She missed him, but she didn’t love him. The day she told him that she helped save someone’s life and that it felt good was the day she thought she could survive in this world. What was the point if she couldn’t save Allison? She loved Allison. She didn’t love Aiden.  
  
On the fourth day, she wiped her tears, put on her makeup, and went back to school in boots that could kill. Lydia didn’t cry that day. Her voice never shook. She held her head up, and she looked everyone straight in the eye, daring them to take her on.  
  
She was Lydia Martin the Bitch. She was fireproof. And everything could break her heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely hated that there seemed to be no grieving happening in the show with Lydia. She just lost her best friend, and she didn't even look sad. And that made me angry. So I wrote this.


End file.
